Miss Hex - The Home of Horror Stories Miss Hex - The Home of Horror Stories
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Miss Hex - The Home of Horror Stories
Creepypasta and Horror Narrator on Youtube.
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The Algorithm
Sometime during the third consecutive night spent huddled over the toilet, insides heaving and shuddering as I vomit forth seemingly everything I’d ever eaten, I realize what’s happening: He’s trying to poison me. It’s all so elegant, so perfect, and so clear, that I almost laugh, but another barrage of retching forces me into silence.
The next morning I threw everything in the kitchen away, wrapping it three times in black plastic and burying it deep in the apartment's communal trash cans, to prevent an unfortunate transient from the crossfire of His wrath. I am out the door of the complex and halfway to the corner store when I realize: He knows, must know, where I would shop.
I pick a direction and walk, enjoying the chill winter air that soothes the ragged shreds of my inside. I turn at random intervals, following an improbable path out of my familiar neighborhood, until I find a small shop with an unfamiliar name. Once inside, I hurriedly fill a small plastic basket; brands that I never have eaten, strange tins of ethnic ingredients I don't recognize, foods that I’d never thought of buying. Soy milk. Tofu. I can feel my stomach reborn in anticipation of an untainted meal. -
Never Play With A Ouija Board - True Horror Story
This story happened, in October of 2004. Back when I was still a 3rd-year high school student. My friends and I, stuck around the school, late at night, after our annual Halloween Party. We had agreed to try out my friend's Ouija Board. It wasn't the brightest idea, but we needed a thrill.
We found a nice spot under a huge Narra Tree and proceeded with our half-assed ritual. There were 5 of us, 2 boys and 3 girls, we were all expecting some kind of paranormal contact. Rumors had it our school was haunted, but we've never really experienced anything first hand, and it was Halloween when all the spirits came out to play, we all wanted to get spooked. Also, we've never seen a Ouija Board first hand before, so we were pretty excited.
Our school was an old Spanish Colonial House, built in the 1800's when the Spaniards still occupied the Philippines. We were in a section of the school that doesn't get used often. Located beside a creepy old Jesuit House, people only go there when they needed the use the restroom, store equipment on one of the sheds, or make out with their boyfriends or girlfriends. -
La Llorona Hunting
So you want to take a walk on the wild side, huh?
My dad and I, we're kind of junkies for this sort of thing. Now, don't get me all wrong or misled here — you want to actually see and touch the supernatural, right? You're not those kinds of people who just "talk" about it and then chicken out. You see a horror film, you think of plans on how to observe it and beat it. Or even use it to your advantage. You're the kind of person who would enjoy seeking a hunt.
Unfortunately, I can't tell you how many times my father and I went out to find nothing. It happens, you know. Can't ask the supernatural to appear on a whim.
Everyone in San Antonio area knows the story of La Llorona and any child could tell you that La Llorona walks the banks of a river, crying and seeking out the children she drowned before she can enter Heaven. I'm pretty sure, after hearing all the stories, she's not a particularly vengeful spirit.
If you don't know La Llorona, you need to research her story for yourself. You personally need to make a decision. I am not going to type out her backstory for you because it takes away your choice on whether or not you want to pursue the hunt. So stop right here if you're a Yankee from the North or need a refresher on the spooky tale. You'll only fool yourself into thinking you're ready when you're really just unprepared. -
Happy Halloween - Halloween Creepypasta
“I’m… not sure what’s happening to me. I just… started to like it… the...”
He was visibly shaking now, holding his hands up to his face to see the earthquake that was erupting inside him, as well as making sure that it was truly him. He shoved the next word out in an almost unintelligible stutter. “P-pain.”
The winter-spring night transition confused me, humidity licked the air, and as soon as it was finished waving its tongue around, the cold night air froze my body, keeping me alert. However, I didn’t need it. I felt my jaw hug the floor as my friend slowly dipped his mind into the pool of madness. When he dragged me outside, away from the party (much to my displeasure), I was propping myself up against the railing of my porch, but at this point I manned up and stood straight up to face my friend. -
The Game of Survival - Fictional Horror Story
Growing up learning how to hunt and track were just day to day life skills, as a child I loved going out camping with my parents and all that training taught me a lot about living off the land, so much so that when I moved to the United States I wound up becoming a wilderness guide. I love my job, there’s something about seeing the world in its true form that speaks to me. About a year ago I got completely hooked on those wilderness survival shows and decided I wanted to give it a try, so I grabbed my camera and made an audition reel thinking, what’s the worst that could happen? To be honest I didn’t really think I would get picked but two weeks after I sent in my audition tape I received an e mail stating I had been chosen to participate in next month’s filming. I was super excited by the idea of being on the show and when they told me this episode would be filmed in Australia I just knew I had this in the bag.
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The Mommet - Creepypasta
Every day on the bus ride to school through the country, I would see it: the Mommet. That’s what we all called it, but no one seemed to know who had called it that first.
The Mommet was an old scarecrow, sitting atop the shallow valley my bus route cut through. The field it was intended to guard had long ago been abandoned, surrendered to grass and weeds and wild-growing Indian corn. Backdropped against it was an old woodlot filled with too many dead trees to count, long overdue for felling. Perpetually perched in those naked branches was a murder of crows, inexplicably indifferent to the insidiously imposing scarecrow beneath them.
The first thing that most people would probably notice about the Mommet was that it had been deliberately and irreverently placed on a life-sized cross. Its outstretched arms had been bound at the wrists to the horizontal beam, its body sagging under its own weight in an undeniable mockery of Christ’s crucifixion.
Even more bizarre was the fact that the Mommet’s head had been made from a leather plague doctor’s mask topped with a wide-brimmed black hat. Combined with dark gloves and a tattered black cloak on its outstretched arms, the Mommet had apparently been made in the image of the crows it was meant to fend off.